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Salient. An Organ of Student Opinion at Victoria College, Wellington N.Z. Vol. 3, No. 7

Gavotte

Gavotte.

A few bars of music, and the whole scene lives again. A gavotte by Gluck - I don't know its name - I heard it on the wire-less about time, and now it is associated indissolubly with that August afternoon.

It had been raining drizzling miserably cold. I had been feeding hay to the cows - there they were standing round on the soaked grass, munohing, munching loudly in the sudden stillness, for the rain had stopped. There was a break in the clouds over in the west above the mountains - the sun flowed through a gleaming haze," braiding the tattered edges of the grey-black cloud with a fringe of dazzling silver, while streaming raye transformed the wet trees and hills below, gliding the dripping and the hushed leaves in sudden liquid magnificence. A bird's lyrical note echoing, and the cows munching hay- the scent of the hay - warm and dry..... The notes of remembered music ecstatically and the whole scene throbs; with life. Peace.... the cows placid contented at their hay nature resting breathless gasping after the rain.... Peace....

And it was just at that time that war was throwing the world into another mad frenzy of ignorant hatred - the music recalls that, too - not so vividly - [unclear: me rely] the dazed feeling - the frustrated fury at the madness of those responsible - a stunned, almost [unclear: so thing] determination to resist their vile hymns of hate. That music - its whispered message, is not hate, though hate fills, the columns of a, delirious press. "We must hate Germans"'- Gluck was a German - we must hate Gluck -we must hate Gluck's countrymen.' Oh! mad! mad! mad!...

And here was nature in garb of lambent glory, gilded by the fingers of the sun as life is gilded by youthful dreams - until the war destroyed it all - destroyed it all. The vision is fading - the Clouds have imprisoned the sun once more behind their grim black veil - the fields are wot and cold - a shivering breeze - the vision has gone. But the war - keeps on.

Georges da la Tour Noire.